


Verð Mín

by Ulfrsmal



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blasphemy, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Old Norse, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, PWP, Penetrative Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Sparring, Teasing, Threesome, blowjob, handjob, poetic prose, smut is in the second chapter and it's optional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulfrsmal/pseuds/Ulfrsmal
Summary: For some unknowable reason, Uhtred has grown restless and driven even patient Ragnar half insane with his antics. Upon finding their Lord pacing around in circles, Sihtric and Finan devise a mischievous plan to let Uhtred let go of all that excess energy…
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title [is a song by Eivør](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_FIwLoIHBY); it means “Be Mine” in Faroese.
> 
> The words not in English are translated in each chapter’s End Notes.
> 
> This is completely unedited… feel free to point out any mistakes you find. Special thanks to Sheep for the original prompt, and to Chas for The Research. Hope y’all enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m better at writing swordfights than fistfights, but oh well. This chapter is only here so I can wax poetry about Uhtred’s body >.>

Sihtric spares Finan a glance, which the Irishman returns with only the slightest arch of an eyebrow; in their eyes shine the kind of understanding that comes from having fought on uncountable battles together, letting them know exactly what the other is thinking without having to say a single word out loud. They turn their heads at the same time, giving Uhtred twin looks across the dirt-filled circle that his household forces have drawn with a stick on the ground to delimit an improvised fighting ring.

The sight reminds Sihtric almost too much of a _Holmgang’s_ grounds; and, even though there’s none of that formality here, the sensation lingers in the back of his mind. A bad taste spreads through his mouth when he sees Uhtred rolling his right wrist so that Serpent-Breath twists with him in a motion meant to intimidate his opponent and show off the ease with which Uhtred can change his grip mid-battle.

Regrettably, or perhaps thankfully, he’s been going toe-to-toe with his own older brother for a good two hours by now. Ragnar growls from deep within his throat, sounding much more annoyed at Uhtred’s seemingly endless energy than at the fact that he’s lost just as many matches as he’s won. His blond mane has come half-undone from its red ribbon at some point amidst the abrupt chaos brought on by Serpent-Breath’s sheer speed, earning him more than one longing look from the dirt-circle’s side-lines. He would make quite a commanding sight if it weren’t for the fact that he’s kneeling, his weapon’s sharp edge leant against the dirt so that a pacing Uhtred will not take it as invitation to start a new match before Ragnar has caught his breath.

“Should we intervene?” Sihtric asks in quiet English to Finan, leaning in towards him until his bare arm touches Finan’s own naked skin. It’s a somewhat rare occasion for both of them to be sleeveless at the same time, for it grants them their fair share of teases courtesy of their always fired-up Lord; perhaps that’s why Sihtric allows himself to linger, brushing his arm against Finan’s for as long as he dares, “Ragnar looks about to die.”

“We should.” Finan gives him another meaningful look; it’s quite easy to see he’s already started to concoct something up, “But sparring might not cut it today.”

“Do you know why he’s so…” Sihtric trails off and clicks his tongue, annoyed. The exact word he’s looking for comes to him in his mother tongue, but not in English. He takes it as a sign that he needs to improve his knowledge of this language; perhaps he could get Uhtred and Finan to give him private lessons one of these days…

“Restless?” Finan asks without missing a beat, “No idea. Bet it’s got something to do with how we haven’t had a proper battle in weeks.”

“We should be thankful for that, though.”

“Well, yes. But you know how Uhtred is.”

Sihtric smiles at that, for he knows perfectly well how Uhtred is. Both out and _in_ bed, in fact. Not that Finan is any different, of course; that’s exactly why Sihtric instantly recognises the mischievous spark shining in their Irishman’s warm eyes. Finan brushes his arm against Sihtric’s own in the most natural gesture ever, and slowly starts to advance towards the edge of the dirt-circle. Sihtric smiles at the warmth seeping underneath his skin; then, he follows Finan, staying one pace behind and to his side like he’s so used to doing already.

“Lord Ragnar, you look tired.” To his credit, Finan sounds completely sincere, as if this were the first time today that he’s laid eyes on the blonde _Vikingr_ , instead of having been unabashedly staring at his training session with Uhtred for about an hour before Sihtric had even arrived at his side, “You could use a break.”

“And who would fight me then?!” Uhtred answers before Ragnar can, frustration ringing clear in his strained tone. He’s half-breathless, even though he’s had ample time to rest from their last match. He points the tip of Serpent-Breath towards Finan, more for playful show than as a downright threat, “You?”

Finan’s smile is filthy enough to make Ragnar laugh that boisterous laugh of his, and to cause Sihtric to quickly look away, lest he starts to blush.

“Aye, Lord. I’d be more than happy to.”

Uhtred snorts as if Finan has just told him the worst idea he’s ever heard in his entire life. Sihtric tries his best to not fidget in place; he can see perfectly well how Finan’s eyebrows raise until his forehead creases, his head cocking to one side, a challenge in his gaze.

“Not enough.” Uhtred replies, lowering Serpent-Breath to underline his words. He raises it instantly, though, pointing its tip in this and that direction, just like he does when ordering his armies to move here or there, “If I could take on a huge _Vikingr_ like Ragnar, what makes you think a skinny Irishman will give me a real challenge?”

Sihtric may not have listened to Finan’s plan in full detail, but he still knows his cue when he sees it; or rather, when he hears it coming from those full lips he’d love to bite into. If sparring truly is not enough for their restless Lord right now, then perhaps he could suggest other activities to him, once Ragnar isn’t close enough to hear it. The three of them haven’t been exactly secretive about their affections, even though they probably should be keeping things on the downlow, but Uhtred had looked mortified when Finan insinuated that, at this rate, even Ragnar might have caught wind of their relationship by now; so deep had his turmoil been that Sihtric had had to send Finan away for a moment to calm Uhtred down completely.

“What about a two-against-one fight, Lord? You against Finan and me.”

Uhtred’s grin is a sleazy little thing spreading through his factions, giving them a ferocious light only seen in battlefields and in his bed. He gives a bow of his back, eyes never leaving either Sihtric nor Finan. Sihtric doesn’t need to look in Ragnar’s direction to know he’s picking his axe up and rising to his feet to walk out of the circle; it also explains why he allows himself to rake his eyes all over Uhtred’s shapely body.

His sweat-soaked shirt clings to the hard planes of his torso, the sleeves marking his biceps every time he curls his arms to better grip his beloved Serpent-Breath. When he straightens his back again, sweat has stuck his darkened shirt to his stomach, raising it at the hem until there’s a sliver of skin and hipbone visible. Sihtric smiles, amused by the sight; he’ll never understand how Uhtred can be so shameless as to wear his trousers so _low_ when he knows everybody will be ogling him.

Then again, perhaps that is precisely why Uhtred wears his clothes like this. He’s never made any secret out of his enjoyment of Finan’s and Sihtric’s staring at his body; he’d already grown into the habit of flustering Sihtric with his good looks long before they took their relationship to a more sexual level.

“Take it off, Lord. And drop Serpent-Breath.” Finan commands, his voice firm and steady. Uhtred looks at him, bemused that he’d dare boss his Lord around like this, “Lord, there’s less risk if we’re unarmed. Hild would have our hides if we appeared at her door bleedin’!”

“She would.” Uhtred agrees with only the slightest of shivers; the Abbess’ wrath is legendary amongst her novices for a reason. There’s no need to ruffle her feathers any more than what is strictly necessary – and Gods know the correct answer is “never”. “But if I’m to be half-naked, so should you two be.”

Finan looks to Sihtric, who simply shrugs one shoulder; the prospect of shedding half his clothes in front of the two men who have seen him fully naked uncountable times before doesn’t bother him at all. Besides, it’ll give him a better chance at discreetly ogling both his Christian and his Heathen love; and Uhtred certainly could use a reminder of the _other_ way of relieving himself of his current frustrations.

Uhtred takes only a few seconds to properly sheathe Serpent-Breath and discard his soaked shirt; it falls half on top of the scabbard and half off of it. Then he walks back to the part of the dirt-circle that Ragnar and he had agreed was Uhtred’s to lurk in. He’s still pacing from side to side, gaze never leaving his two newfound opponents, loose hair falling down his front and back in such wet strands that not even the breeze can lift them as fully as it usually would. He lifts a hand to run it through the dark locks from forehead to nape; the motion emphasizes how well-muscled both his arms and pectorals are.

There’s a certain definition to Uhtred’s chest, not quite soft enough to earn him any teasing remarks from unwanted mouths, but certainly curved enough to warrant all of Sihtric’s unabashed staring. Their enticing volume only serves to further underline the valley in between them; Finan’s appreciative hum, coming from Sihtric’s side, tells him that their Irishman is recalling exactly how it feels to trace his tongue right along Uhtred’s sternum, tasting warmth and salt on his miraculously unscarred skin.

Sihtric’s gaze roams even lower, to the marked ladder of their Lord’s abdominal muscles. His neutral posture means that they do not appear to be carved as deeply into his flesh as other lines on him; nevertheless, they steal Sihtric ‘s breath all the same. Uhtred has been described by the youngest incorporations into his fighting forces as a “solid mass of muscle”, a description that Sihtric had been both amused by and in agreeance with.

And yet he's never understood those boys any better than he does now, watching how the sides of their Lord’s torso are drawn in straight lines from his shoulders to his hips; an enticing sight that makes his mouth water and his throat go dry.

Sihtric suddenly feels parched, as though there is not enough water nor ale in the world to quench the thirst brought on by his close and blatant inspection of his Lord's body. Those hipbones certainly are not helping him at all; they are even more marked than Sihtric’s own, forming a perfectly easy descent towards Uhtred’s crotch. Thankfully, the love-bites that Finan had worked into their sensitive flesh during their last escapade have already faded; otherwise Uhtred would be receiving more heated looks from Sihtric and Finan alike now, much as he’s trying to push his trousers upwards to cover the starting points of the soft hair leading down to his pride.

As distracted by Uhtred’s impressive physique as Sihtric is, it comes as no surprise that Finan is the first to move. He grabs at the collar of his shirt and pulls it over his head in a single, swift move; Sihtric cannot help but to admire the fluidity of his motions when he half-turns his torso to the side to throw his shirt onto the dirty ground outside the dirt-circle. Sihtric intentionally cuts his vision of the marked line of Finan’s spine short by pulling his own shirt off, not wanting to be called out for still being fully dressed.

The very moment when he discards his own shirt atop Finan’s, an appreciative, low hum fills his ears. Sihtric smiles to not blush, licking at his lips before turning to meet Uhtred’s darkened gaze. It’s hard to tell if their Lord is so excited by having fresh sparring partners or by the enticing sight of both his shirtless loves stalking closer to him.

Sihtric stretches his arms behind his body, unconsciously trying to force the lines of his muscles into marking themselves deeper into his flesh. He’s painfully aware that he was built for agility instead of strength, knows he cannot compete with the sharp cut of Uhtred’s hipbones, nor with the slender curves of Finan’s torso. Sihtric looks to his right, where Finan is groaning as he bends his spine just slightly, adopting the very same readied posture he always adopts when battling either armed or empty-handed. From this angle, the sun casts shadows in between Finan’s shoulder and bicep, obscuring part of the faded scar crossing his flesh diagonally from back to front.

Despite how Uhtred always teases Finan for his slightly lither frame in comparison to Uhtred’s own, there’s more strength coiled under those shadowed arms than there is rippling beneath Sihtric’s skin. Another little detail making Sihtric feel almost envious of his two loves’ bodies, even though he knows they both love his own just as much in turn.

“Are you going to stare at me all day, Finan?” Uhtred’s taunt breaks the haze in which Sihtric has unwittingly fallen into, “You could’ve stayed out of this then, stare all heart-eyed like you’re lusting for me!”

“And who says I’m not?” Finan mumbles, low enough for Uhtred to not catch it.

What does catch, however, is Sihtric’s breath; Uhtred has given no indication that he was about to attack, and yet here he is, sprinting across the dirt-circle to strike at them. Finan instinctually moves in front of Sihtric, using his superior speed to hide their rogue from Uhtred’s view. Sihtric gently touches the side of his back with the tips of his fingers, indicating which direction he plans on moving into as soon as he has enough of an opening to do so. Finan’s skin is warm, although Sihtric and Uhtred both run hotter; toned muscles ripple underneath Sihtric’s touch to tell him that he’s received the message loud and clear.

And Sihtric immediately resents their choice of battlefield. His tactics are much better suited for the dead of night, for always staying hidden from the enemies’ sight, for appearing from the shadows only to strike and then return to them. This sunny dirt-circle offers him no comfort and no real chance at showing off; still, he knows perfectly well that today is not about him. Today’s spar is all about Uhtred and his almost extreme need to always have something to do with his body, lest he grows too restless and provokes an internal conflict just to occupy himself by resolving it.

Finan takes Uhtred on head-on merely to give Sihtric an opportunity to get into a better position; and Sihtric wastes no time in scurrying over, using Uhtred’s blind angle to his own advantage to keep their Lord trapped in between Finan’s well-muscled agility and Sihtric’s own strong resolve. Uhtred laughs in delight when Finan easily evades his attack and grabs at his wrist – Sihtric wonders what punishment Lady Freyja would dole out for him for thinking that Uhtred’s laugh is more appealing than the Goddess’ own could ever be.

“You wanted a fight, Lord…” Finan’s tone has gone slightly lower, raspier, from the effort of keeping Uhtred contained. Admittedly, though, their Lord doesn’t seem to be using his whole strength while Finan speaks to him, “… and here ya have it. _Satisfied?_ ”

“ _Never_.”

Sihtric takes Uhtred’s growl as his cue to stop his next attack, helping Finan out with the same finesse the Irishman exhibited when aiding Sihtric earlier. Uhtred’s groan curls into a question at the end, looking over his shoulder to find Sihtric close enough to him that Uhtred’s long hair brushes against Sihtric’s ribs. It almost tickles, prompting a smile to appear in Sihtric’s factions regardless of how serious he was trying to appear like; he’s thankful when Uhtred’s eyes gleam with dark interest.

Their Lord tries to break free of Sihtric’s grasp, knowing him to be slightly less strong than Finan in spite of their similar builds; yet Sihtric will not budge. Uhtred tries the same motion a couple times, groaning with the force behind each of his attempts. There’s fire in his eyes, shining as blue as the hottest part of the flame. His skin feels impossibly warm under Sihtric’s hand, not at all slippery like he’d been expecting, considering how much exercise Uhtred has had already.

On the very edge of his vision, Sihtric catches Finan’s frown when all tension drains from Uhtred’s body. He lets himself be held in between his two loves; Sihtric’s keen senses are quick to take notice of how their Lord’s head bows when he glances down to Finan’s beltline. He couldn’t fault Uhtred for it even if he wanted to; they both know just how good-looking Finan is beneath the tight clothes still clinging to his anatomy.

It’s not every day that they can stare at the smooth expanse of skin in between his navel and the hem of his trousers in such a public place, either; out of the three of them, Finan is the most likely to not expose himself any more than strictly necessary where anybody could see him. It has never made a lot of sense to Sihtric, because this Irishman is certainly more than attractive enough to know he’s got no teasing remark to fear; he’s always been ready to respect Finan’s reservations, however, and so has Uhtred.

“You look bothered, Finan…” Uhtred’s English is a dark drawl, punctuated just like Sihtric’s Danish accent would colour each word. He doesn’t need to look at their Lord in the eye to know there’s a filthy smirk in his face as he says, “Are you tired already, or is there something distracting you…?”

“Cocky, are w–”

Finan’s curse is still ringing through the clear air around them when he and Sihtric jump backwards in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding Uhtred’s sudden thrashing about. Sihtric internally curses the sunny day; he doesn’t feel nearly self-assured enough in his current position than to spare a glance at the skies above, but he’s sure there are no clouds in it. He cannot see any such shadows on the ground. If he only had more shade… that way he could hide in plain sight and return Uhtred’s attack in full.

Uhtred laughs anew as he throws a punch at Finan, who avoids it with an elegant step to the side. Their Lord’s wild delight is delightfully clear when he lets the momentum of his own motion spin his body in a circle, leaving his vision obscured for a moment and his body angled towards Sihtric. Finan looks at him in the eye, Uhtred’s hair still flying around him – the moment stretches eternal, set aflame by the sharp warmth of Finan’s irises, so hot that Sihtric fears not even the fires of _Múspellsheimr_ could ever compare to them. He nods to Finan, slow and steady, bending low to prepare himself for the incoming blow.

Uhtred must truly be riled up, for he doesn’t bother trying to hide his intentions; he simply charges at Sihtric and tries to hit him with his full strength. Twin groans leave them when Sihtric blocks it. Something akin to fire burns deep inside Uhtred’s dark eyes, reminding Sihtric that this is a dangerous game they’re playing, even though there are no axes or swords in their hands. The sensation grows tenfold when Uhtred attempts a half-hidden hit with his off-hand, demonstrating that he’s learnt something from Sihtric’s own tactics after all. At Uhtred’s back, Finan observes them without advancing; Sihtric cannot be too sure of where he’s gazing at, but his money is on the option titled “Uhtred’s arse”.

“Where are you looking at, _boy?_ ” Uhtred’s voice has gone down in both volume and tone, just like it does when he’s trying to coax a forced orgasm out of Sihtric’s very overstimulated body. The memory alone makes him blush; in front of him, Uhtred smirks that filthy, lopsided smirk that always sets Finan’s gaze aflame, “I’m right here, haven’t you noticed me?”

“Hard to not notice you…” Sihtric tries to not flinch at how strained he sounds even to his own ears, for their Lord is a force to be reckoned with – Odin’s hairy _balls_ , but how _handsome_ Uhtred looks, drenched in sweat and buck-wild from all the energy he doesn’t know what to do with… “ _Lord_.”

Uhtred’s smirk widens until his fangs show; Sihtric’s gaze falls onto their pointed tips almost unconsciously. He can still feel them digging into the backs of his thighs when he laid against Finan, chest-to-chest so that Uhtred could easily access them both from in between Sihtric’s parted thighs. The thought alone is distracting enough to make Sihtric sigh a little exhale that comes out closer to a groan.

He trembles from something more than the mere exertion of containing Uhtred’s feral strength when their Lord licks at his lower lip, his tongue travelling to the corner of his mouth and curling obscenely, as if he wanted Sihtric’s overactive imagination to come up with even more scenarios as to how this sparring session might end like.

Sihtric lets out a little moan of surprise and barely-concealed arousal when their Lord suddenly pushes him back, his shoulder colliding with Sihtric’s left collarbone at an angle that would’ve been painful in a real battle, but that Uhtred has now contained to not cause more than a few bruises. Distracted as he was, Sihtric almost loses his balance; for a terrifying moment, he’s sure he’ll kiss the ground before he’ll have a chance at kissing their Lord.

A warm body appears at his back, catching him before he falls backwards. The chest pressed against him is one Sihtric knows very well; he’s mapped its expanse with both his fingers and his tongue. Finan’s hands linger on his hips for only a second more than his aid called for – Sihtric curses in his mother tongue when Finan leans in just barely to kiss his temple. The gesture is innocent enough to be masked as simply Fina’s body ebbing against Sihtric’s upon catching him; but the possessive, borderline jealous growl coming from Uhtred reveals it as being not innocent at all.

Sihtric feels affixed to the very ground he stands on after Finan lets go of him. Uhtred hasn’t stopped staring at him, hasn’t even blinked once. His lips fall opened and their Lord growls, not unlike a predator about to pounce on an unsuspecting prey. Sihtric shivers, the feeling too akin to fear to be a comfortable sensation.

“ _Finan_.” Uhtred’s voice holds the same weight it does when issuing commands; the illusion isn’t broken when their Lord rubs the back of his hand over his face to clear his vision. He blinks rapidly, trying to determine where the Irishman has scurried over to. Sihtric stays right where he is, abdomen quivering from the heady mixture of vulnerability and desire he can read off Uhtred’s general posture, “Fuck you, you skinny bastard, where in _Hel_ have you ran off to?!”

“Uhtred.” Sihtric whispers, his stomach twisting in on itself. Their Lord looks at him with an unasked question in the lingering curve of his mouth when he takes notices of how Sihtric’s skin glistens under the afternoon sunrays. “Are you… alright?”

The smile he receives is bright and completely sincere, slivers of ferocity shining at the tips of his fangs and accentuating the easy confidence that always gathers around him, enveloping him like the most alluring of auras.

A second later, Uhtred falls face-first onto the dirty ground, an ever-agile Finan climbing atop his thighs to keep him down. Uhtred immediately starts to thrash in place, growling about the move not being fair play and spluttering colourful, Norse curses that make Sihtric giggle like a child. Finan returns his courtesy growl for growl, the inner parts of his thighs pressing tighter against the outer side of Uhtred’s own. Sihtric decides to simply observe how this grapple unfolds without intervening, lest he catches any of the blind punches Uhtred is trying to hit Finan with.

“Eaaa– _sy_ there!” Finan groans, leaning forward to take a firm hold of Uhtred’s right wrist, halting half his writhing. The motion leaves Uhtred with no other option but to allow himself to be held in place; his left arm is still pinned uncomfortably in between his own body and the hard ground beneath. Sihtric’s hearing strains to catch the whisper that Finan feeds directly into their Lord’s ear, “Got ya, _Uhtred_ …”

Dark hair falls over Uhtred’s face when he turns his head to press his cheek to the dirt, his body growing slack under Finan. Sihtric dares to move closer then, heart swelling within his ribcage upon seeing the elated look shining in Finan’s dark eyes. He doesn’t have to direct his gaze much lower on Uhtred’s body to recognise that the rounded curve of his arse rests directly in front of Finan’s crotch – Sihtric can almost hear Freyr’s laughter at how Uhtred suddenly _refuses_ to writhe to try and break free of their Irishman’s grasp.

“We won the first match, Lord.” Sihtric says, kneeling down in front of Uhtred; it is impossible to resist the urge to reach out and set those long locks away from his face so that they may look at each other in the eye. Uhtred’s expression betrays the exhaustion seeping into his bones now that he’s been forced to finally rest. Sihtric instantly knows Finan shares his own need to take care of their Lord in all senses of the word; for if Sihtric himself feels it, then that sweet spark has already appeared in Finan’s heart. “Do you want another round? Maybe that way I’ll have a chance at a fight!”

He intended that last sentence as a playful tease, he really did; but it only makes Uhtred’s gaze darken further. Afraid that he’s made a wrong move without even realising it, Sihtric looks to Finan as though asking for guidance, because he knows the bond he shares with their Lord is different than the one shared in between Sihtric and him, which in turn is different from the bonds that bind the three of them together forevermore. Finan slowly moves the hand he’s got on Uhtred’s wrist upwards, following the solid muscle of his arm until he reaches the shoulder to knead into it.

The sound that comes out of their Lord would've been enough to make a brothel-lady blush, had there been any nearby.

Sihtric takes a quick look around to verify that they’re alone, that nobody is paying close attention to every move they make and every word they say. Thankfully, Uhtred and Ragnar had been fighting for so long before Finan and Sihtric arrived at the dirt-circle that any amusement their bout held for onlookers has completely died out, leaving them alone with a moaning Lord pinned underneath their hands. Sihtric caresses Uhtred’s cheek gently, his fingertips tracing the faint, irregular scars at his cheekbone. Their Lord trembles like he doesn’t know whether to pull himself away from the touch, or plea for more.

“Lord.” Finan’s voice is softer than his body’s weight must be atop Uhtred’s body, “If we’re done here, may we move things to your room?”

“I’m dirty…” Uhtred mumbles, his English already so overtaken by exhaustion that Sihtric has to roll the sound of his voice around in his head before recognising each individual word. “No bed.”

“Sheets can be cleaned.” Sihtric runs his hand over their Lord’s hair… and barely resists the urge to grimace at how the dark brown locks now appear as black as tar; they even feel as matted and grimy as he imagines a shipyard’s working tar to feel like.

“And the tub should still be there too.” Finan completes his thought, tensing his legs to signal that he’ll be dismounting Uhtred’s thighs any time soon. Their Lord gives an uncharacteristic jerk at that, “Easy there, darlin’… Just movin’ us elsewhere.”

“Unless you want us to take care of you right here.” Sihtric doesn’t think his own smile is nearly as blasphemous as Uhtred’s filthy smirk, but the smack Finan gives him upside the head disagrees. Sihtric laughs, one hand rubbing at the crown of his head just for show, because the hit didn’t even sting, and looks at Finan, “Alright, alright! I’ll help you move him, stop hitting me!”

“Shameless Heathen…” Finan grumbles as he swings a leg over Uhtred’s prone form to kneel by his side. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

Sihtric glows under the praise, unable to contain his smile even when he feels the comforting weight of Uhtred’s gaze on his mouth. He looks to their Lord – and oh, no, that’s not right. This exhausted man with blue coals in his eyes is not the Ragnarsson who became the Lord of Bebbanburg by birth-right. Right now, right here, he is simply Uhtred. Their closest companion and confidente. Their most brilliant and intimate love. Their life-partner forevermore.

“I’m not done with you two.” Uhtred declares in the darkest tone Sihtric has ever heard from him outside of the confines of their oftentimes-shared bedroom, “I can’t move but I want you both. Move me to my room and let me have my fun.”

“Your fun?” Finan jokes with raised eyebrows as he manoeuvres a sighing Uhtred onto his feet. Sihtric instantly moves closer, letting Finan transfer Uhtred’s warm weight onto him instead. Their beloved Irishman did almost all of the sparring today; it’s only fair for Sihtric to take over this task in turn. “Think you meant _our_ fun, love.”

Uhtred half-whines, half-moans under the affectionate name, a smile appearing in his factions and brightening them in spite of all the grime and sweat still clinging to him like a second skin. Sihtric waits until Finan steps to the side, occulting him from any and all curious glances that the few soldiers still training close-by might send their way, and bows his head to kiss Uhtred’s jawline. Surprisingly, it’s one of the least dirtied parts of his anatomy, sans for perhaps those still covered by his trousers and boots, which are as sullied as his skin.

Finan’s low chuckle says his thoughts are as deep in the gutter as Sihtric’s own have been all afternoon long. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Sihtric to confirm that he’s standing guard so that their three-way love may remain hidden; he just tilts Uhtred’s chin to the side and leans in to kiss him. Sihtric would be simmering in a low-level envy if he hadn’t already worked out that there is no way in Hel he’s kissing Uhtred while he’s covered in dirt from head to toe.

Finan pulls off Uhtred with a groan, rubbing at his closed mouth with the back of his hand in what has to be the most obvious way of giving away what he has just done – Gods and Goddesses up high, what was the point of trying to keep the kiss in secret if he does such an obvious gesture right after…?

“You’re _filthy_ , Lord.” Finan states with the same grave tone he uses to insult an especially thick-headed man, “Absolutely disgusting right now!”

“And yet you kissed him.” Sihtric replies, his voice drowning Uhtred’s breathless laugh almost completely. Upon feeling Uhtred’s hand on his stomach, welcomed and warm, Sihtric swallows the rest of his retort to let him speak for himself.

“Why don’t you clean me up yourself, then, _love_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holmgang is, basically, a Viking version of a duel; the offended party challenges the offender. They don’t necessarily fight to the death, though.
> 
> Vikingr (plural: Vikingar) means “warrior” in Old Norse.
> 
> Múspellsheimr is the Old Norse name for one of the Nine Realms: the Realm of Fire, in which Surtr and Loki were born. English spells it as “Muspelheim”.
> 
> Hel is both the name of one of the Nine Realms (also called Helheim) and of the Goddess who reigns over it. This is a land of eternal autumn, not at all like the Christian version of Hell.
> 
> Freyr is the twin brother of Lady Freyja; like her, he’s the God of fertility (in both the crops sense and the sexual sense).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual content (all kinks are in the tags already), blasphemy (against the Christian faith). There are mentions of the S-shaped scars both Uhtred and Finan share from their time aboard the Trader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I was planning for rougher sexytimes, but then Uhtred decided he was DONE in Chapter 1, so here we are. If you thought I’d already waxed enough poetry about Uhtred’s body… SIKE!!

Getting into Uhtred’s bedroom had been easier said than done; especially because he insisted on using his own body-weight to his advantage by pushing himself against his loves, vying for being kissed and caressed against the wall like an overexcited teenager. After the third time that’d happened, however, an annoyed Finan had single-handedly decided that enough was enough, and simply refused to engage Uhtred until they were in the privacy of his bedroom under threat of scurrying away to first let him fall flat on his face, and then steal Sihtric away.

It had been almost impossible to not kiss Uhtred’s pout away.

True to their expectations, nobody has moved the wooden tub away from its place at the centre of the well-illuminated room, probably because Uhtred didn’t give that order before his sparring session. Sihtric’s thoughts revolt until his instincts burn him from the inside out when he notices that the tub is full of clear, clean water; unequivocal proof that someone has manipulated the thing after Uhtred used it last yesterday. Before he can say anything about it, though, Finan pushes Uhtred towards him with so much force that he’s left with no other option but to encircle him with both arms to not topple over.

“Finan!” Sihtric protests, though only because he knows Uhtred would’ve done so himself if he weren’t so harrowingly exhausted.

“Can’t undress him if I’m holdin’ him!”

Uhtred snickers that lilting little laugh he does when he knows that sex is brewing on the horizon of his future. Sihtric turns his cheek to lean it against the side of Uhtred’s head, placating his obvious need for physical contact. In more ways than one, Sihtric muses while Finan walks closer to them, Uhtred is just as fired up now as he was back in the dirt-circle outside; his mind must be screaming to be allowed to have that which his body craves the most right now. Knowing that his need extends only to Finan and Sihtric himself is more intoxicating than all the good ale in all of the Nine Realms.

Uhtred moans when Finan’s hands descend on the hem of his trousers; then he has the gall to giggle at Finan’s disapproving tut at how low they ride on his hips, holding on to his shapely body only due to the curve of his arse. Sihtric discreetly slides one of his hands down Uhtred’s back, appraising the dip of his spine and the warmth irradiating off him. His fingertips skirt across Uhtred’s lower back, close to the spots in which Sihtric has seen slight dimples in other men; only then does he realise that Finan has stopped his motions and is now staring directly at his face – and, apparently, interrupting his own featherlight caresses also interrupts Uhtred’s low mewling.

“Do you mind?” Finan asks to Sihtric, tilting his head to the side to signal that he is only teasing him for the sake of entertaining Uhtred. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, darlin’, but I’m trying to work over here.”

“Let him be…” Uhtred’s movements are slow like molasses, so much so that it’d be easy to evade them long before they reached their mark; and yet Sihtric holds Finan’s gaze to pin him in place with one of those mismatched looks that Uhtred always praises him for. Finan audibly exhales a shaky sigh when Uhtred’s hand falls opened at the centre of his chest, “And don’t act like you don’t want this– Me – _Us_.”

Sihtric nuzzles his face into Uhtred’s hair in lieu of the kiss he still refuses to give him. When his eyes find Finan’s again, their Irishman is looking down; he’s resumed his steady undressing of Uhtred. Sihtric angles his body fully against their exhausted lover, or at least as fully as he can while still supporting him. Uhtred’s smile is slow and sensual; it steals Sihtric’s breath away like it did the first time he saw it, back when their benevolent Lord had spared his life and demanded he sworn loyalty to him. Sihtric still blushes crimson deep every time he remembers just how reverently he’d kissed the offered Serpent-Breath, unable to look anywhere but to Uhtred’s face, desperately wanting him to think his kiss so beautiful to order him to repeat the motion, but on Uhtred’s lips instead.

It had been wishful thinking, Sihtric knows now; although speaking of that secret desire to Lady Freyja and Lord Freyr in prayer had born fruit, for he’s been in Uhtred’s, and in Finan’s, beds more times than he can count.

Finan rumbles an admiring hum when he tugs Uhtred’s trousers down just enough to expose the base of his cock to the room’s cooler air. Sihtric feels rather than hears the breathless little laugh that leaves Uhtred’s lips at Finan’s gentle impatience. Smiling, and probably blushing as well, Sihtric slides his hand even further down to help undress their sighing Heathen. The moment he’s completely bare in between them, Uhtred leans into Finan’s personal space, obviously seeking another kiss.

“Oh, no no no, darling.” Finan halts him with two fingertips against his lips; his words falter when Uhtred kisses them instead, “Fuck’s sake, Uhtred!”

“You love me.” Uhtred replies, a mischievous spark in his eyes. Finan just laughs, because he’s never been one to deny the truth when it’s laid so bare in front of him, “And you…” Uhtred continues, turning toward Sihtric, “… you, you love me too.”

“I do.” Sihtric answers easily. It’s always easy to admit his adoration for these two men; they have never judged him for his darkest moments, and so sharing the brightest feelings with them comes as naturally as breathing. “But I’m not going to kiss you until you’ve washed your face.”

“Then I better do that soon…”

Sihtric swallows drily. There’s a newly-formed lump in his throat, one that has appeared there prompted by Uhtred’s lustful look and filthy smirk. His ability to seduce everybody else in the room with only a well-timed glance and a sideways smile is quite impressive; it warms Sihtric from the inside out to know it is focused directly on him. Only this is not the same kind of steady, comforting warmth he always feels when he falls asleep cuddled up to either Finan or Uhtred; this is an entire firestorm consuming him and threatening with swallowing him whole if he’s not careful.

His sudden stupor, or rather arousal, lasts until Finan sighs before taking it upon himself to help Uhtred to the tub. Sihtric is left affixed in place and feeling quite stupid, although he knows that Uhtred always takes it as the highest compliment whenever he can cause him to become as shy as this. Still obfuscated enough for Finan to shoot him a questioning look, Sihtric moves closer to the tub. He stops quite abruptly by the tub’s edge, however; once again utterly unsure of what to do.

Uhtred half-solves the problem by letting himself fall more deeply into the water; Sihtric cannot help but notice that the tub is too small for him to lay down as comfortably as he’d been able to when submerged in a riverbed. Uhtred doesn’t seem to mind how he must bend his knees until they’re out of the water’s edge to be able to sink down to his chin, though; he just closes his eyes and sighs as deeply as he can without swallowing the waters around him. Little bubbles arise to the surface, making Finan snort and cup water in his hands before letting it drip over the top of Uhtred’s head.

Sihtric notices how Uhtred turns his head in his direction, instinctively knowing exactly where Sihtric is even with his eyes closed. Smiling even more than before, if that’s even possible, Sihtric traces Uhtred’s lips with gentle fingertips, making sure he’s clean enough to kiss. Uhtred whines under his touch, signalling his desperation for obtaining a kiss from him; and it’s adorable, really, how he must always kiss one of his loves after the other to savour them both until their flavours mix inside his mouth.

That sweet whine deepens into a downright moan when Sihtric leans in and gives him the kiss he was craving. At first, it is naught but a chaste press of his own lips against Uhtred’s, full of devotion and charged with various apologies for not having been quite as present until now as Finan has; but then Uhtred opens his mouth in a silent invitation. Sihtric moves one hand to the edge to the tub, his thighs already burning from having his back bent, suddenly wishing he’d knelt before kissing Uhtred. Thankfully, he needs to pull away to breathe; it gives him the perfect chance to correct his mistake.

“Come here…” Uhtred probably intended for that to be one of those growls he does when he’s so lost to pleasure that he cannot control his own voice anymore; to his chagrin, however, it sounds much more like a plea, “Sihtric…”

“I’m here.” To show rather than tell, Sihtric leans in again, immediately sliding his tongue into Uhtred’s mouth because he still hasn’t closed it – the desperate whore, as Finan would taunt him.

Not that Uhtred has ever felt ashamed because of those words, though; if anything, his smirk only turns marginally filthier as he replies that, maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s only a desperate whore for Finan himself and Sihtric. Even their rowdy Irishman had blushed at that shameless admission, much as he’d tried to hide it by roughly turning Uhtred around and pushing him against the nearest wall to have his fill of scarred skin and enveloping heat.

The memory helps Sihtric a lot to remain focused in his meticulous exploration of Uhtred’s mouth, his own tongue sliding against his in a promising caress. Uhtred doesn’t even try to mask his sounds or control his volume; and it makes sense, too, because he _is_ the reigning Lord. People might overhear him growling and moaning, but absolutely nobody would ever dare to bring it up to him later, or to accuse him of indecently sharing both his most trusted companions. Nobody’s death-wish is that pronounced; although Uhtred had allowed Sihtric to openly assassinate a member of Uhtred’s household forces after he’d accused their rogue of being _ergi_.

The newfound respect had only lasted until nightfall, however; then Uhtred had summoned Sihtric to his bedroom and thoroughly ravaged him until Sihtric exhibited a necklace of bites the same day. He'd worn it with pride, never recoiling in shame nor embarrassment when the youngest kids pointed the bruises out to him with innocent concern. The best part had been how Finan’s stare had scorched him down to the marrow when he’d come back from his reconnaissance mission and found that Sihtric had been spending his time getting well-acquainted with Uhtred’s body.

That knowledge is coming in handy now, Sihtric muses as he bites at Uhtred’s lower lip in just the right way to make him moan. Uhtred raises a hand to hold him by the side of his neck; water drips down Sihtric’s front and forms droplets at every loop of the chain around his neck. His _Mjöllnir_ sways gently against his chest when he kisses Uhtred again, utterly unable to keep himself away from his lips now that he finally has the perfect, clean chance to devour him whole.

“Horny like a fuckin’ teenager.” Finan grumbles from the opposite side of the tub. Sihtric slowly separates from Uhtred’s mouth while keeping his own opened, gaze going to Finan with the weight of his own desire burning him from the inside out, “Oh, don’t you _dare_ give me that look!”

“Kiss it off him.” Uhtred whispers; if he meant it as an order, the effect is lost in the relaxed atmosphere of the room, “I’d love to see that…”

Finan mumbles something in Gaelic, but leans towards Sihtric across the tub, who mirrors the gesture. It’s almost impossible to not think of how close they are to Uhtred, of how intently he’s observing them kiss, as though the sight alone were enough to excite him despite the exhaustion forcing him to keep his hands to himself this time. Sihtric soon grows perhaps _too_ aware of Uhtred’s stare, for he trembles, mouth opening with a sigh; a sigh that Finan swallows willingly, grabbing him by _Mjöllnir’s_ chain to keep him close. The sheer possessiveness of the gesture makes Sihtric moan and Uhtred groan.

“… satisfied?” Finan asks against Sihtric’s lips, so quiet that the lively bustle of the town outside the window almost drowns him out completely; it makes Sihtric recall that it’s still mid-afternoon out there.

“Not yet.”

Upon hearing Uhtred’s reply, Finan smirks a smile that clearly says he’d already expected such an answer from such a greedy lover. Sihtric barely has time to take air in before Finan kisses him anew, all tongue and teeth to give Uhtred a show. It’s much dirtier than Finan’s usual kisses, too; all teeth on his lips and tongue sliding into his mouth in a crass mimicry of penetrative sex. Sihtric holds onto the tub’s side so tight that he swears his knuckles must be turning white, shy, yet unabashed at the same time. The strange mixture prompts him to bite into Finan’s lip like he did to Uhtred, though he dares to get rougher with their Irishman. All things considered, today is shaping up to be one of those days when Finan just takes command as naturally as if it were always his own; considering his state of mind, Sihtric is glad he can give him full leadership and simply enjoy the ride, just like Uhtred is doing.

“Feisty little _brat_.” Finan growls without any real bite to his words. Sihtric smiles, feeling cheeky enough to kiss him once more before turning his head towards Uhtred to capture his mouth. His lungs burn horribly painful from the almost complete lack of air; but Uhtred is _moaning_ , and that is all that matters right now. “You just _must_ have us both, huh…?”

Sihtric moans in surprise when Uhtred holds him in place, his full lips brushing softly against Sihtric’s own as he pulls away. A new, long string of moans leave him when Uhtred simply stays where he is, eyes more closed than opened, nuzzling time and again against Sihtric’s mouth like he cannot quite get enough of him. Sihtric trembles like a leaf caught in the gale of Uhtred’s obvious adoration, not quite leaning in to seal the kiss, yet not pulling away either – sweet mother of _Thor_ , but how can such a simple gesture feel so sweet…

A sudden burst of water washes over their heads, making them both splutter curses in their shared language. Sihtric shakes his head not unlike a soaked dog, sending droplets in all directions. Uhtred protests with a mild whine, his hair falling down his front in wet, thick strands.

“Leave that for later!” Finan’s voice carries the very same admonishing qualities it does when he nags either of them to clean up after finishing their dinner, “Cannot move to the bed while this boy is covered in filth!”

“I’m only a year younger than you!” Uhtred protests; for a moment, he looks like he has many more retorts ready to be fired at the tip pf his tongue, but then Finan’s hands trail to his shoulders, and his breath hitches. “ _Ástin_ …”

“… _mínn_.” Sihtric finishes the affectionate term when Uhtred dissolves right into half-bitten groans. Finan’s hands are doing very little other than run across the breadth of his shoulders, setting his hair aside so it hangs completely down his front. “Lay back, let us care for you.”

“Or rather, let us take care of you.” Finan corrects Sihtric’s English without a trace of a tease on his mouth; or at least Sihtric would like to think so. Considering how much Finan’s beard conceals his lips, it’s hard to tell whether their faint curve is due to mere amusement, or to his own share of arousal. “Sihtric, _a stór_ , help me too.”

Glowing under the Gaelic term of endearment that Finan reserves for both him and Uhtred, Sihtric runs a hand over his curls to make sure they hang at the correct side of his head before moving closer once again. Uhtred’s eyes have fallen mostly closed, and his skin has broken out in almost imperceptible goosebumps; Sihtric would worry about the water’s temperature if he didn’t already know what their cause is.

He dips his right hand into the tub and then raises it to the toned muscle at Uhtred’s shoulder, slowly running his opened palm to its outer side. The mangled scar borne from Uhtred’s soul-drenching stay aboard the _Trader_ taunts him just by existing in an otherwise unmarred part of Uhtred’s body. Sihtric’s heart tightens inside his ribcage, just like it does whenever he catches sight of these S-shaped scars in both his loves’ shoulders. Uhtred’s smile warms him, though; and so, Sihtric allows himself the luxury of placing a new, tiny kiss upon the scarred flesh, hoping Uhtred hasn't lost all sensation, hoping he can still feel Sihtric's devotion.

When he moves away, the desperate whine Uhtred gives almost makes him dive right in again; but Sihtric knows that, if tonight goes exactly as they’ve planned, he will get many more opportunities at kissing him all over. A rarer occasion, because usually Sihtric is the one getting kissed and touched all over. The change of pace makes his heartrate pick up with a mixture of lusted anticipation and juvenile adoration.

Sihtric gently splashes more water over Uhtred’s arm, only dimly aware that Finan has already gotten further along on their love’s other side. It was to be expected, though; their Irishman did get a head-start due to how taken Sihtric’s attention had been with that filthy smirk and those almost-kisses. Besides, he is no rush to catch up; he can and _will_ take his time to make Uhtred fall apart under his hands, his mouth, his cock if he’s allowed to.

For now, however, Sihtric simply concentrates on running his water-soaked hands all over Uhtred’s shapely arms, feeling how warm, how solid, his beloved feels under his fingers. Uhtred rolls his head backwards to lean it on the tub’s edge, which exposes more of his neck to Sihtric’s greedy gaze. He reaches out to it, but Finan beats him to the prize.

“Leave some for me.” Finan’s wink is just as filthy as Uhtred’s smirk, though for entirely different reasons. Sihtric feels himself blush under the close scrutiny that Finan subjects him to, intense and full of promises he absolutely intends to fulfil tonight.

“I thought we were good at sharing…” Sihtric teases. For a moment, he fears his words haven’t hit quite the right mark; even though he’s been at Uhtred’s service for years now, he still feels lesser than in some regards, this being one of them. This is not time to worry about himself, however; not when Finan is looking at him like _that_ , so full of fire and unabashed desire for both Uhtred _and_ Sihtric alike.

“You are.” Uhtred mumbles, head rolling slightly to his right to try and focus his gaze on Sihtric’s face. He would return the look, but Finan is handing him the soap, and that takes priority in Sihtric’s mind. When his soaped-up hands dip towards the centre of Uhtred’s chest, Sihtric’s attention almost misfires, “ _Mmmm_ …”

“Jesus, you’d make a whore blush.” Finan groans, shifting in place. Sihtric knows the reason behind the motion, because his own trousers have tightened too upon hearing Uhtred’s blatant enjoyment. “Sihtric, _a stór,_ let’s make this quick, huh?”

Still glowing from both the Gaelic sweet talk and Uhtred’s dark gaze, Sihtric hums a little line to express his agreement with Finan’s plan. A quick shiver runs down Uhtred’s spine, the water’s surface rippling along with it. It’s hard to keep the roaming of his hands chaste when Uhtred already looks half-blissed out, but Sihtric manages to not get too lost in the enticing valley at the centre of his chest, nor in how Uhtred's abdomen quivers in time with Finan’s soaped hands skimming over the marked muscle there.

Sihtric licks at his lips as an idea forms halfway in his foggy mind, Uhtred’s tiny sighs filling his ears and eliminating any chance he and Finan still had at forming coherent thoughts. Uhtred emits a trembling chuckle upon feeling Sihtric’s hand sliding down, past Finan’s hands and Uhtred’s navel, disappearing under the waters without disturbing them at all. His fingertips reach the sharp cut of Uhtred’s hipbones in a moment; and, this time, the one sighing with pure pleasure is Sihtric. He never quite knows whether to feel envious of Uhtred’s physique or blessed by the Gods for being allowed to grope and prod at it for as long as he wishes. Right now, he’s leaning towards thanking all Gods and Goddesses he can think of.

Finan snickers when Sihtric’s lips fall opened from how warm, yet sharp, Uhtred’s hip feels under his fingers. The guise of helping Uhtred bathe is utterly destroyed, though; soap cannot cling to his hand under the water, which betrays his every intention. Sihtric is secretly grateful that Finan lets him have this, that he doesn’t call him out on anything; he’s just observing every little tremor running through Uhtred’s body as Sihtric’s fingers run along the carved lines of his bone structure.

Sihtric’s breath hitches in his throat when he notices how Uhtred’s cock is taking an interest in all the gentle caresses the rest of him has received thus far. While it isn’t yet as hard as Sihtric knows it can get, it serves as definite proof that Uhtred’s body is up for having more fun today; something that feels reassuring, for Sihtric had half feared Uhtred would fall asleep here, in the tub, leaving Finan and Sihtric to work out their frustrations on their own. Not that such an outcome would be _bad_ per se, of course; it's just that they’ve just been craving some time for the three of them together, instead of having to reap whatever little time they can when Uhtred’s time is so taken up by his lordly duties.

“Well, darlin’, you’re looking much better already.” Finan’s voice is a low drawl capturing Sihtric’s attention and forcing a moan out of Uhtred, “Let me just pour some more water over your hair…”

“Can’t we be done?” Uhtred whines, a tad too raspy for it to come out as anything other than a single, drawn-out string of sounds. Finan frowns as he deciphers the words; then he sighs – and heavily, too.

A moment later, Uhtred’s head gets drenched, courtesy of the wooden bucket that Finan emptied directly over him. Sihtric thinks he hears Uhtred grumbling in their shared language about how the floorboards are soaked through, thank you Finan very much; but then Sihtric’s hands find their way into his long hair to brush it backwards and out of his face.

Uhtred groans like he does every time his hair gets grabbed during sex. His hips visibly tremble, the water rippling around him and dripping down his torso. Sihtric cannot resist the urge to ravage Uhtred’s mouth again, paying no mind to whatever Finan is doing to Uhtred under the water’s edge beyond acknowledging that it’s making Uhtred moan as loud as the motions of Sihtric’s nimble tongue. He gives one last lick into Uhtred’s mouth and moves away, desperate for more but not wanting to annoy Finan, lest he takes it upon himself to ensure Sihtric will be the last one to release tonight.

Moving to the bed proves to be a bit of a challenge, since Uhtred’s hair drips dirty water for a long while after Finan and Sihtric help him rise from the tub. They take turns supporting him to dry his body and hair just enough to be able to set him down on his bed before soaking the sheets through. Uhtred settles on his back almost immediately, boldly shimming his hips until he’s satisfied with the way the bedcovers lay underneath him. It is quite the obscene motion, since he’s fully naked and half-hard; it’s also the one sight that makes Finan growl and climb on the bed by Uhtred’s left, letting Sihtric take his own place at Uhtred’s right.

“So…” Uhtred starts, a filthy smile in his lips. He looks every part the cat who got the cream, self-satisfied and shameless. “… what are you two going to do to me?”

“Well, what do you want?” Finan retorts, much gentler than his usual commanding tone. Agile fingers skirt across Uhtred’s ribs, making him giggle; he’s more ticklish than he’ll ever admit out loud.

“You always say you can’t take your time.” Uhtred says, looking directly to Finan; the smile is still affixed in his handsome face when he turns towards Sihtric, “And you always say you could do more with more time.”

“True.” Sihtric blurts out in the very short expanse of time it takes Uhtred to inhale anew. Finan stares at him like he wants to tell him to shut up; thankfully for everybody, Uhtred speaks again right then.

“Then take your time with me. Both of you. Show me what you can do to me.”

Sihtric’s heart stops within his chest. Finan growls like he almost cannot contain himself. Uhtred keeps on smiling that filthy grin of his.

It’s a challenge. One that he knows neither of his loves will be able to deny him. One that he hopes will leave him more satisfied than all the sparring earlier did.

“Well, then…” Finan starts after the moment stretches silent in between them, “… guess we better start.”

Sihtric doesn’t wait until Uhtred begs, because he knows that he’s not nearly lost enough in the dulcet throes of pleasure than to do so; thus, he simply leans in and kisses Uhtred’s jawline, letting its sharp line carry him down to Uhtred’s neck. Finan remains sitting on the bed, absently tracing invisible patterns over Uhtred’s torso in featherlight motions that Sihtric can see just barely, out the corner of his eye, whenever he pulls away for long enough to look at Uhtred’s blissed expression.

They’ve done so little to him so far; and yet he reacts so acutely, so sweetly, to it all.

It makes Sihtric _ache_ to give him more. A sideways look tells him Finan is as fired up as he himself is, if not even more.

Something crashes within Sihtric, like a dam overflowing from having tried to contain too many emotions at once. It should be overwhelming, force all air out of his lungs, send him reeling from the sheer force of it. But it does not; it merely fills him with a hazy sort of warmth, spreading slow and steady throughout his entire body. When he bows his head to nuzzle into Uhtred’s neck and make him turn his head towards Finan, Sihtric doesn’t even realise he’s practically _purring_. The kiss he places on the spot behind Uhtred’s ear, the same one he’s so weak for, feels like the most reverent admission of his love.

“So good for you, isn’t he?” Finan mumbles against Uhtred’s lips. Sihtric distantly hears them kiss, already half-lost within his own sensations and suddenly quite glad that he’s not the one leading the dance tonight. Uhtred tries to bite his lip to contain his sounds, so Finan kisses him again, “Uhtred, love, darlin’, _a stór,_ moan for us…”

The various pet-names soon prove to be enough to get Uhtred to raise his volume, although Sihtric internally thinks his own kisses at Uhtred’s neck have had something to do with it, too. As if to let Finan know that he’s not standing idly by, like he sort of did earlier today, Sihtric nibbles at the sensitive skin under his lips until Uhtred’s back arches upwards in a gentle curve. Finan hums to express his interest; Sihtric sees him moving closer to Uhtred’s body before he closes his eyes, giving in to the darkness just so he can concentrate on his other senses more. It’s always easier to bite into Uhtred’s flesh while blinded; otherwise, the fear of leaving lasting marks that their Lord will be questioned about is too much to bear.

Uhtred moans a semblance of Sihtric’s name; he’s so utterly breathless, however, that he cannot pronounce it in a single try. Sihtric echoes the sound with one of his own, lips and teeth working at Uhtred’s neck to ensure he cannot catch his breath. By the time he turns his head and slithers downwards enough to bite at the juncture between shoulder and neck, Sihtric already knows that Finan must be doing something equally arousing to their cossetted lover.

“ _Sih_ …” Uhtred trails off from his lack of air. His back arches more in time with the next little bite, “… _tric_ …”

“ _Meirr_ …?” Sihtric whispers into his ear, quickly kissing that weak spot behind it before Uhtred can catch his breath enough to answer.

In the end, all Uhtred can do is nod his head, smiling so brilliantly that even Finan curses out loud at the sight. Sihtric looks at him half-expecting him to cross himself like he always does when he curses with his God’s name, but Finan does not do that. Sihtric pulls himself away from Uhtred’s skin, though he’s careful in remaining close enough so that they’re still touching each other at multiple places, a question in his opened mouth.

“Your Heathen ways rubbed off on me.” Finan declares gravely.

Sihtric and Uhtred immediately burst in delighted laughter, far from feeling coy or embarrassed. If anything, Finan groans as he uses his superior agility to tickle Uhtred’s side and pinch at whatever part of Sihtric he manages to grab, they both look _proud_. The blasphemy doesn’t last long, for both Sihtric and Uhtred know exactly how far they can take it before they truly wound Finan, but it does leave their Irishman feeling much more inclined to amp the intensity up a few notches. The hooded stare Uhtred gives him makes his trousers tighten, and Sihtric would gladly laugh at him; but then Uhtred directs that same stare at Sihtric himself instead, and the laughter lodges itself roughly across his throat.

“More…” Uhtred asks, or pleas, or demands, or whatever this beautiful sound is – Sihtric cannot concentrate on classifying it while Uhtred looks at him like that, his blue eyes so dark they’re almost black, lips half-parted in spite of his smile, skin blushed only slightly more than his usual shade. “Please, _ástin mínn_ … more…”

Sihtric doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s bending his head again, kissing his delicious way down from Uhtred’s shoulder and towards the right side of his chest, lingering on all the little places that make him moan the loudest. Uhtred tries to raise a hand to lean it on Sihtric’s hair; yet Finan catches it before it reaches its mark and brings it up to his own lips instead. Uhtred giggles, his voice quickly dissolving into a quiet sigh when Sihtric kisses him directly over his heart.

Sihtric half-opens his eyes, for the welcomed darkness from before does little to none right now; a good portion of the fun is being able to see Uhtred’s body working from up this close, all powerful muscle and cording sinew as he tries to hold on to something, _anything_ , while he’s tended to. Finan mumbles some English sentence that Sihtric’s brain cannot concentrate on; not when he’s got the sweet-salty taste of Uhtred’s skin spreading through his mouth and lingering on his tongue. His own trousers feel impossibly tight; he instinctually knows he’ll end up spilling in them if he doesn’t take them off soon.

And yet his hands do not move down his own body. Tonight is not his to claim, after all; it is only about Uhtred and his boundless energy and his need to feel both of his loves so impossibly close to him in body and soul alike.

Sihtric rests his right hand on Uhtred’s abdomen, moaning against his chest upon feeling it quiver with every breathe Uhtred takes. Sihtric’s mouth moves ever-so-slightly to the side, tongue gently rolling out to flick the erect nipple in front of it. Uhtred _keens_ at the touch, brief as it was, back arching so that he can push his chest more firmly against Sihtric’s sinful lips.

“Feels good, aye…?” Finan whispers, the sound of an open-mouthed kiss soon finishing his sentence. When Sihtric looks up, he finds Uhtred looking down at him from in between his long lashes, Finan’s face buried at the crook of his neck. Sihtric gives them a pleased smirk, though he knows that only Uhtred will see it. “He’s as good with that mouth as I’m with my hands, isn’t he, _a stór_?”

“ _J_ \- _ja_ …” Uhtred might be answering to Finan, but his gaze remains on Sihtric’s lips. He manages to lift the hand not still captured in Finan’s own and lets it rest, heavy and warm, on Sihtric’s shoulder; the gesture earns him another pleased smirk from their favourite rogue. “Gods…”

Sihtric wants to hear many more moans like the one Uhtred just invoked all deities with; thus, he turns his attention back to Uhtred’s chest, softly nibbling on the skin around the areola before sucking on the nipple like he would do to Uhtred’s or Finan's cock. He makes sure to keep the pressure light, though; if Uhtred keens again like he just did, there is just no way in the Nine Realms that Sihtric won’t taint his trousers, prematurely forcing himself to pause to catch his breath.

“Look at you…” Finan’s voice is as full of obvious intent as his hands roaming all over Uhtred’s body, going down to the top of his thighs before climbing up his side. A new, loud moan escapes from parted lips when Finan’s fingertips trail gently over his taut skin, briefly catching on every step of the ladder formed by his ribs; Uhtred giggles with every touch, ticklish yet loath to admit it, “So handsome, lying here for us…”

Emotions Sihtric cannot name mix with the need to leave a lasting mark for Uhtred to remember tonight by, their combined force coalescing within his heart, or perhaps his crotch. It soon becomes too much for Sihtric to withstand in silence; and so he growls and bites down on the side of Uhtred’s chest, already knowing Finan will leave another mark to mirror his own. Uhtred’s hand slides from Sihtric’s shoulder to his elbow, which is still leant on the bed by Uhtred’s body and half-trapped beneath Sihtric’s own. His desperation is plain in how he doesn’t think twice before looking at Finan, shameless pleas inside his eyes and lips alike.

“Don’t leave him hanging.” Somehow, Sihtric manages to keep his voice steady as he addresses their Irishman, “You know how he gets when we don’t let him finish.”

“Aye… _Insufferable_.”

Before Uhtred can either take enough air or rack his brain for something witty to retort to Finan’s fond growl, their rogue’s mouth finds a new expanse of skin to lavish. This time, it is Sihtric’s turn to drown loud moans; he can feel every muscle and every little valley in between Uhtred’s abdominals. Finan snickers from above; he’s most likely kissing Uhtred right about now, judging from how their deep moans are half-muffled. It would usually make Sihtric long for a chance to devour Uhtred too, but his mouth is happy to be where it is, kissing and nibbling on Uhtred’s stomach until he giggles from being so sweetly tickled by Sihtric’s facial hair.

“Fuck…” Uhtred curses in English; he’s quick to revert to the guttural language he shares with Sihtric to add, “Don’t tease me…”

“What did he say?” Finan immediately asks, and Sihtric cannot blame him for it; those are probably not words the Irishman knows the meaning of, even when it’s true that he can more or less understand the language at large just from sheer exposure to it.

Sihtric ponders over sharing the truth or making Uhtred suffer from his past deeds; Gods know he’s the biggest tease of them all. Revenge has been overdue for _weeks_ now, whether Uhtred is prepared to live through it or not.

“He said that we should tease him more.”

“ _Noooooo_ …!” Uhtred whines, smile evident in his voice. He sounds, looks, and feels utterly blissed out. “Just suck me off…”

“What’s the magic word, love?” Finan moves close enough to crowd Uhtred; there is a certain gleam in his warm eyes, one that tells Sihtric their Irishman has caught on to this little game. Finan looks Uhtred in the eye as he adds, “No magic word, you don’t get what you want, alright?”

Sihtric stops his motions and puts some semblance of distance between himself and Uhtred’s enticing body, already knowing that he would’ve influenced the decision if he’d continued. Such a thing wouldn’t be a problem on any other day; but today this teasing game has arisen in the middle of sex, not before it. That’s why Sihtric and Finan push themselves off Uhtred to let him think for a moment, wanting his consent to be given freely.

“Do it to me like you did it to Sihtric last time I caught you in my bedroom.”

Surprisingly, Finan downright _blushes_ the moment he hears Uhtred’s statement. It’s impossible to determine if it’s due to the embarrassment he still feels at having been caught, or at the darkened stare Uhtred is levelling him with. Sihtric, on the other hand, doesn’t feel nearly as coy as Finan does, even though the posture he’d been in when their Lord had barged in had been quite the compromising one.

“Thought you wanted to do that to me, instead of us doing it to you.” Sihtric leans in to kiss the skin right above Uhtred’s navel. When he turns his head to one side to look at Uhtred while he answers, Sihtric's curls tickle him again, colouring his every word with an amused undercurrent.

“It looked like fun… I trust you both, too… I know you won’t leave me hanging.”

“Never.” Finan reassures him, bending his head to give Uhtred a searing kiss, as if he needed to do so to formalise the promise. If that is the case, however, the effect is a bit lost due to how Sihtric hasn’t yet kissed Uhtred’s lips too to seal his own promise.

“We better get working, then.” Sihtric’s smile holds trouble, albeit nothing Uhtred cannot handle; they know each other well enough by now to know exactly how far they can prod at Uhtred before his submission turns into wild demands and raw dominance.

That is exactly why Sihtric wates no more time in continuing his slow descend, his lips tenderly trailing over the desperate flesh beneath him. He rearranges himself in front of Uhtred, parting his thighs until he’s got enough room to fit the breadth of his shoulders in between them. Uhtred presses them against his shoulders anyway, wanting to feel him close to ground himself amidst the pleasure promised by Sihtric’s darkened gaze. Sihtric tells himself that he will keep his eyes on how Finan kisses Uhtred’s neck and plays with his chest; alas, his instincts have a mind of their own.

He _moans_. Loud. There is no two ways about it; the desperate sounds spilling forth from his throat cannot be described as anything other than _moans_.

Uhtred’s cock has hardened fully in the time it’s taken Sihtric and Finan to lavish his upper half properly, and it now curves beautifully upwards, as proud and shameless as the rest of Uhtred. A steady string of translucid white leaks from its very tip, dripping down the impressive length of him. Sihtric’s mouth goes utterly dry at the sight; distantly, he feels himself moving until his hands rest on either side of Uhtred’s hips, his palms so completely over the bone that he irrationally fears getting cut on its sharp angles. Slowly, more because everything seems to be moving at half-speed than from a conscious decision on his part, Sihtric licks at the side of Uhtred’s cock.

The sound that comes out of Uhtred at that almost makes Sihtric explode on the spot. He ruts his hips against the bed below and then suddenly lifts them, supporting his whole body-weight on Uhtred’s hips. Finan tuts disapprovingly at how Sihtric had tried to seek more friction on his own, despite today being not about his pleasure. Sihtric moans a quick apology and swirls his tongue around Uhtred’s cock, chasing the salt-sweet taste of him. Uhtred laughs breathlessly; the delectable sight of his pleasure is the last thing Sihtric sees before his eyes fall closed on their own accord.

“You’ll finish before he does…” Finan sounds half-annoyed and half-ready to lose his head too. Sihtric feels him scurry over; then a pair of warm hands appear at his own hips, insistently tugging his trousers down. The sudden motion all but dislodges him from Uhtred’s cock, something which makes Sihtric growl his disagreement. “Don’t be silly, you’ve got him all for you now!”

Finan continues to grumble in Gaelic, but Sihtric stubbornly refuses to pay him any more attention. Besides, he cannot speak with his mouth so full of Uhtred’s cock, its weight a comforting, familiar sensation on his tongue. His taste spreads quick and sudden throughout his whole mouth, leaving him panting for more. The posture doesn’t allow for a smooth swallow, though; Sihtric almost resents not having gone down to his knees in front of Uhtred while Finan was supporting their Lord, because he cannot take him all the way down his throat now. Still, Uhtred’s moans tell him that he’s enjoying it regardless. Sihtric cannot stay mad at himself, nor at the posture itself, precisely because of that.

“Fuck, _love_ …” Uhtred moans, breathless like he always is whenever he receives oral sex from either one of his lovers. His hips rut upwards when Sihtric sucks on his head, the tip of his tongue circling around the slit at the top. Uhtred melts into the bed, squirming in place like he doesn’t quite know whether he wants more or less of this. “ _Sihtric_ …”

“Good boy.” Finan growls into their rogue’s ear, completing the thought that their overexcited Uhtred couldn’t finish.

Sihtric trembles at the praise, his bare hips rutting against the bed with renewed interest. Once again, Finan’s hands descend on him to fully halt him; Sihtric growls upon finding himself held so tightly against the soft bedcovers that all chances at getting more friction on his neglected cock have disappeared. A part of him feels like crying, but the only reaction that erupts forth comes from his own cock. Sihtric moans, embarrassed, upon feeling himself weep more steadily when Finan leans in to kiss the small of his back, aiming at soothing his sweet ache.

“Get him there and I’ll get you after.” Finan says to Sihtric, his voice decidedly sweeter than it was when he’d been riling Uhtred up. Sihtric lets go of Uhtred’s cock for long enough to nod his head; then he goes right back to sucking around the head, swirling his tongue in the same exact way he knows Uhtred adores. “That’s it, go on… good boy.

It doesn’t take very long after that for Uhtred to start moaning and buckling his hips upwards, both his hands clutching desperately tight to the bedcovers at either side of his head. He growls like he’s accidentally taken a hold of his own hair too; the mixture of pain and pleasure edging him closer and closer to the edge of the precipice he knows he’ll be hanging on for a long time tonight. He gives out a desperate, almost wounded, moan – and Sihtric immediately relents.

Uhtred whines with whatever little air he has left, practically sobbing as the waves of his imminent release subdue. Were Sihtric and Finan merely listening to him, they’d be scrambling upwards to hold and reassure him right now; it’s a good thing they’re both looking at Uhtred’s face, where a smile shines brighter than the waning sunrays outside. It’s evident that he’s enjoying every moment of this dulcet agony, their game allowed to go on for longer due to it. Sihtric finds it difficult to not dive right in and bring him off; yet Finan is worse off, if that’s even possible, since he lunges upwards to kiss that smile right off Uhtred’s lips.

He fails quite spectacularly. Uhtred is still smiling when they separate to breathe. The only real difference Sihtric can see is that Finan is now fully naked as well. Desire surges up his spin at the sight of them kissing, Finan’s tongue sliding easily into Uhtred’s mouth to swallow his moans. At this point, Uhtred’s refractory period, or whatever of it he’s felt after being teased like this, should have ended. His cock is certainly still standing at full attention, leaking directly into Sihtric’s greedy mouth.

“Now I know why you love this…” Uhtred sighs, one hand coming down to tangle in Sihtric’s curls. They moan at the same time, “Will I not move in hours too, if he fucks me now?”

“Would you like to find out… _darlin_ ’?” Finan’s voice is a filthy drawl that forces twin moans from Sihtric’s and Uhtred’s throats. It’s well-known that their Irishman has endless skill to force their release from their bodies with little more than a timely praise; at this point, though, Finan knows better than to use that power too often. His fun would cut short if his two loves were to grow used to his tactics, after all.

Uhtred doesn’t beg with words, but the gaze he directs first at Finan, and then to Sihtric, says it all.

“Very well, then.” Finan tilts his head to one side and Sihtric immediately knows the order he means by it. He gives one last tiny kiss to the very head of Uhtred’s cock and moves off him, keeping himself against the edge of the bed while Finan gathers Uhtred in his arms. “Alright, love, lay down. Face-up.”

Sihtric obeys easily, head swimming at how _firm_ Finan’s voice sounds whenever he issues them commands in bed. He’s barely had time to part his thighs when Uhtred is leant atop him, their chests touching. Sihtric opens his thighs more, wanting to help Finan to better accommodate Uhtred. A string of kisses along his jaw brings his attention back to Uhtred’s face; he turns his head just enough to receive him in full. When Sihtric rocks his hips upwards, Uhtred groans from the velvety feel of his own cock sliding right along Sihtric’s length.

“Perfect sight…” Finan mumbles, unscrewing their little phial of oil. Sihtric hasn’t even seen him retrieve it from whatever place it’d ended up in last time they’d used it; a fact that should scare him, because it means that his senses are not as sharp now as they always are, but that he cannot bring himself to care about when his cock is so hard and so trapped against Uhtred’s toned body. “So handsome for us, _a stór_ …”

The next thing Sihtric’s mind can focus on before all sanity abandons him is that Finan’s hand is closer to Uhtred’s arse now. Uhtred whines and arches his back, rocking into the contact. His gaze searches for Sihtric’s, both hands holding onto the rogue’s slim hips almost hard enough to bruise. They share the same breath, the same blissful smile. Sihtric leans up to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy just so Finan can still hear Uhtred moaning. It’s the best indicator of his pleasure that their Irishman has left; he certainly cannot see Uhtred’s face for as long as he remains pressed so tightly against Sihtric.

Suddenly, Uhtred groans into Sihtric’s mouth, his jaw going so slack that he ends up licking at his lips instead of at his tongue. Sihtric moans and moves him closer, until Uhtred’s head rests on his shoulder; he immediately brings one hand up from Sihtric’s hip to hold onto his side instead, palm curved over his ribs. His breath is warm on Sihtric’s collarbone, although not nearly as heated as the stare Uhtred is regaling him with. Sihtric greedily caresses the arc of his back with his gaze; then he does the same with his fingers.

“You’re…” Sihtric starts but never finishes, his sentence cut off by the groan that Uhtred tears from his throat when he rocks his hips down.

“I am.” Finan answers once they calm down, “Somehow he’s tighter than you.”

“Because we don’t fuck into him enough.” Sihtric sets Uhtred’s hair aside from his face and holds it at the crown of his head with his left hand. The effect isn’t unlike that of Uhtred’s usual hairstyle, although he certainly looks much desperate now than he ever does outside of their bedroom. “He’s too good with his cock to not let him fuck me.”

“Not tonight, though.” Finan reminds him gently – as if Sihtric ever needed any such reminder; he’d be reciting prayers in his mind to try and not explode before Uhtred does right about now, were he not sure that Uhtred will finish first no matter what.

“ _Ja_ …” Sihtric doesn’t even realise he changed languages altogether until Uhtred giggles, dark and low and breathless. When he does realise it, he starts to giggle as well.

“You two are too cheery for men who’ll finish in about five minutes from now…” Finan probably intended that to be a tease, a reminder that he’s got them right where he wants them to be; alas, it only comes out as a drawn-out groan at how deliciously tight and warm Uhtred’s body feels like. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game, _hmm_ …?”

Sihtric’s reply transforms from words to a mewl that’s half-pain and half-pleasure when Uhtred bites him in the shoulder, somehow managing to obtain a good mouthful of flesh even though Sihtric is infamously made of mostly cording sinew and marked bones. Finan takes that as his cue to press deeper within Uhtred; the moan that comes out of him tells Sihtric that Finan is already a couple fingers in.

“Tell me how he feels.” Sihtric mumbles in English; he’s got a sneaking suspicion he hasn’t used the correct grammar, or perhaps vocabulary, but he doesn’t really care. He will be understood. And if he’s not, then Finan will simply ask him questions until he gets it.

“Tight.” Finan replies, gaze still on Uhtred’s rounded behind. Sihtric cannot fault him for that, much as he would love to have the Irishman’s warm gaze focused on himself. “I can tell we haven’t explored him in a while… I’ll have to be careful.”

“Why can’t I– _Gods!_ ”

Uhtred snickers a sticky, filthy giggle that clings to Sihtric’s skin and forces more groans out of his throat. Shameless, Uhtred grinds his hips again, repeating the downward stroke that caused Sihtric to interrupt his own sentence just to moan out loud. Finan hums like he does when trying to figure something out; it would be unnerving to Sihtric if he weren’t currently rocking his hips against Uhtred’s to try and get as much friction as he can. The posture only allows for so much to happen, since it’s designed for Finan to have all the necessary leverage and strength behind his thrusts to leave Uhtred well-spent, but Sihtric and Uhtred are nothing if not resourceful.

Uhtred whines when Finan moves out of him; right afterwards, he _keens_.

“Easy there, darlin’…” Sihtric smirks a half-smile that he knows will look dirty; Finan already sounds strained, as though he’s trying his best to fight off the urge to release in Uhtred when the only thing he’s got in him must be the tip of his cock. “Sihtric, _a stór_ , take care of him, will ya?”

 _“Glaðliga_.”

Finan smiles like he’s understood the word; and maybe he has, for it sounds very similar to its English counterpart. Either way, Sihtric’s attention doesn’t remain on their Irishman for too long, not when Uhtred is so close to him, mouthing at his shoulder and at the place where it meets his neck, desperation and pleasure evident in how sharply he arches his back and rocks his hips. Sihtric tries to move, although it’s a hard thing to do with Uhtred’s full body-body pressing down on him; still, he manages to gather Uhtred more fully into his arms.

The distant smile and darkened look Sihtric earns himself upon wrapping both his arms around Uhtred’s waist scorch him to his very core.

Uhtred keeps moaning and mewling as Finan presses on, slow and gentle because he just doesn’t do this in any other way. Sihtric tries his best to sooth Uhtred, though he knows he cannot truly do a lot; he runs his hands through Uhtred’s hair, holds him close, lets him rock his hips and bite at his flesh. Come morning tomorrow, Sihtric will without a doubt be the most bruised out of the three of them; and they all know he’ll wear every bitemark with pride.

“ _Christ_ …” Sihtric looks up from Uhtred’s face to Finan’s own, taking perverse delight in how their Irishman once again doesn’t even cross himself after cursing like that. Sihtric’s smile is full of teasing remarks; and Finan must’ve seen them, for he adds, “Do _not_ get any ideas!”

“Will you go pray after this?” Sihtric asks, more because he already has a strong desire to cuddle up to both his spent loves than because he wishes to torture Finan so.

“Who th– _fuck_ –do you take me for?!” Finan growls. His hips are directly against Uhtred’s arse, and he’s trembling something awful. Sihtric hasn’t yet been inside Uhtred as many times as Finan has; but even so, he knows exactly what kind of warm pressure he’s feeling all around his cock.

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Sihtric replies, too calmly for someone who’s getting his own cock grinded hard onto. He does moan, however, when Uhtred mouths at a specific point in his neck. “ _Uhtred_ …”

Finan’s gaze is a physical weight on his flushed skin, compelling him to look up to meet their Irishman’s eyes. The sheer intensity of their shared stare has Sihtric moaning anew, too blissed out to care about how loud he’s being. Besides, there’s no denying that Uhtred has already gotten much louder than these quiet moans.

“Serves you right, you Heathen tease.” Finan’s tone holds more of a bite than the words themselves; his eyes, however, tell a very different story. One of unbridled pleasure and fulfilled fantasies.

“Me or him?”

For such a cheeky question, Uhtred earns himself a slow drag of Finan’s cock out of him, torturous and maddening, until its head catches on his rim. Finan gives a sound at it, looking down at what must be the filthiest sight he’s had all afternoon long. It all makes Sihtric wish he could stare at it too; it’s always the most marvellous of treats to be allowed to see how Uhtred’s body welcomes one of his lover’s cocks. It’s even better when he’s been stretched and played with for hours before the main event, perhaps even forced to release all over himself a couple times, because then he becomes a moaning mess, not at all unlike how he is right now.

Sihtric barely has to bow his head to kiss Uhtred’s temple, running a hand down the centre of his arched spine in another attempt at soothing him. Uhtred whines, then moans. He’s so gone, so deliciously lost to the haze of pleasure and adoration that his two loves have crafted especially for him… Sihtric’s heart cannot take it, and from the looks of it, neither can Finan’s.

Uhtred is physically incapable of either closing his mouth nor stop his own sounds while Finan moves closer again, sliding into him with practised ease. Sihtric’s foggy mind immediately reminds him that these two have been doing this for quite a long time before he got added into the arrangement. There’s no resentment, no hard feelings about the time he might’ve lost by refusing Uhtred’s advances before he was betrayed by a King whom he called a friend; and yet Sihtric’s heart still sings at the sight of Finan slowly making love to Uhtred.

A string of incoherent Norse words brings his attention back to the trembling man between his arms. For every syllable that Uhtred attempts, Finan gives a slow drag of his cock against his inner walls to halt the word midway. Sihtric cannot make out enough of any word to even recognise them, least of all know what Uhtred is trying to say; he’s left with virtually no other choice except for rocking his hips to meet Uhtred’s in rhythmless motions. At this point, it seems Uhtred has lost all control over his own body; quite an impressive feat to achieve on Finan’s part, one that speaks of all his prowess in bed. Still, Sihtric logically knows that at least half the merit is his own to claim.

Staring into Finan’s eyes as he rocks into Uhtred should probably not turn Sihtric on nearly as much as it does; nevertheless, he’s always known himself filthy in sex like he isn’t in any other aspect of life. There’s a certain kind of pleasure twisting within the narrow space between his stomach and his crotch at knowing that both Finan and Uhtred are built in exactly the same way.

Sihtric holds Finan’s gaze and uses Uhtred’s quivering body as leverage to match Finan’s rhythm, deliberately rocking his hips so that Uhtred is never left without pleasure. Uhtred screams, the sound half-buried against Sihtric’s neck; he’s caught in between the agonizing pressure of Finan’s cockhead at his most vulnerable of spots, and the white-hot slide of Sihtric’s cock against his own whenever Finan moves out.

It wasn’t a secret to any of them that Uhtred wouldn’t last for very long; and yet it still comes as a surprise when he tenses, desperately holding on to Sihtric’s torso with his full strength and bruising him. Sihtric had been expecting another scream, one loud enough to hurt him simply because he’s so close to Uhtred’s mouth, but Uhtred surprises him like he always does. The silence would worry him, make him stop Finan completely; then Uhtred chokes on a moan and _begs_ for more, hips rutting against Sihtric’s with every thrust, because Finan never stops moving until they plead with him to do so. That explains why he keeps on fucking Uhtred through his orgasm, still at the same leisurely pace.

Finan groans at the tightening pressure around him while Sihtric moans at the deliciously sticky sensation of Uhtred’s release leaking off him and onto Sihtric’s body. It almost serves as further lubrication to ease the slide of his own cock, allowing his pleasure to increase tenfold in the short span of time it takes Uhtred to finally stop leaking all over the place. Sihtric groans, desperate for a blindingly hot release of his own. His until then impeccable rhythm falters. There is no finesse to his movements now.

“ _Nooo_ … _nonononono_!” Uhtred mewls, trying to twist his body around to look at Finan. Sihtric knows he’s not making things easier for him, but he cannot stop his hips from rocking upwards, cannot forget about himself for long enough to aid Uhtred.

“Too much?” Finan asks, voice hoarse with the need to release. Sihtric has no idea how their Irishman has enough self-control to not spill as soon as Uhtred started contracting around him... It’s certainly been Sihtric’s own undoing every single time he’s been allowed to bury himself in Uhtred’s deep warmth.

Uhtred nods his head no. Finan has stopped moving in him, both hands still curled tightly around Uhtred’s sharp hips. He looks at Sihtric with a silent question in his eyes; but Sihtric is too desperate to heed his call.

“Alright, love.” Finan says to Uhtred, although his gaze never leaves Sihtric, “Tell me what you want.”

“ _Meirr_ …”

Uhtred is lucky that this is a Norse word Finan knows the meaning of, for Sihtric is in no position to play translator anymore. The sound that comes out of Uhtred’s mouth rivals the filthiness in Sihtric’s own, both prompted by Finan rocking his hips harder into Uhtred, forcing his two Heathen loves to slide together. It must be slow agony for Uhtred, who’s already found his release; his pleasure must surely be turning painful by now. He keeps on mewling and screaming, though; a far cry from the overstimulated mess Finan had been expecting him to become any time soon.

Sihtric’s head rolls backwards against the sheets when a particularly vicious thrust by Finan sends Uhtred further up his lithe body, which changes the angle of their cocks ever-so-slightly. Sihtric moans, unable to do anything more but to chase his own orgasm, instinctually knowing Finan is doing the same. He wonders if he’ll spill within Uhtred or if he’ll pull out to cover his arse in white instead. Sihtric can think of at least a couple of absolutely _filthy_ ways in which to put his mouth to good use after Finan finishes. He will not say any of them out loud, though. He doubts they would be as well-received by them as they are in the privacy of his own mind, where only he can judge himself.

Uhtred’s moans turn pained quite quickly, just as Finan thought they would. He doesn’t stop nor slow down even then, though; Uhtred has told him that he wants more, and that’s exactly what he will get. It’s not every day Uhtred asks to be overstimulated like this. Usually he’d rather do it to someone else, most often Sihtric, and so it's clear that Finan fully intends on making the most out of all this.

Sihtric keens, trying to roll his head to one side enough to look at Finan’s abdomen quivering as he chases his own pleasure. Uhtred’s body is too in the way, though; he can only see Finan’s chest and above from this new angle. Not that he’s about to complain or something like that, of course. The view is still enticing. It’s almost _too_ arousing to watch the muscles in his arms and chest working as he leans over Uhtred, trapping him in between Sihtric’s and Finan’s bodies even more than he already was.

Were Sihtric more coherent, he would push himself upwards until he could either caress Finan, or even kiss him if he and Uhtred managed to fold themselves just right. But that requires too much work. It’s certainly much, much more than what they can do right now. An idea for another time, perhaps.

Sihtric laughs like he’s going mad when Finan growls and bites right at the centre of Uhtred’s shoulder-blades. He’s found his release. Sihtric is irrationally jealous of him for it, although he knows he’s got no reason to be when he’ll follow soon after. Uhtred’s mewling too, contorting against him. His movements are welcomed, even though they are not enough to send Sihtric over the edge. Finan collapses right on top of Uhtred, their combined weights crushing Sihtric until his chest cannot expand all the way to properly breathe. Thankfully, his respiration hasn’t been completely cut off; he would be panicking otherwise.

“Jesus Christ…” Finan growls as he raises and pulls fully out. Uhtred moans with the same filthiness that would make even a well-practised sex-worker blush, almost too pleased with himself, “Fuck, Uhtred, love, darlin’, _a stór_ , please tell me you’re fine…”

“ _Mmmmm_ …” Uhtred moans an affirmative sound and turns his head to bite at the sharp line of Sihtric’s jaw, “Our boy…”

“ _Uhtred_ …” Sihtric whines, hips still trembling uselessly. The imminent release he’d been feeling while Uhtred was rocking against him has waned slightly, leaving him even more desperate than he was before. “ _Please_ …”

“Not so desperate if you’re begging in English.” Finan teases him, unnecessarily provoking an acute reaction from Sihtric in the form of a choked-up moan, his vison half-blurred. “Hey…”

“We’re here…” Uhtred kisses Sihtric’s lips right after speaking, his body expertly rolling off their rogue’s own to free his cock. Sihtric whines into his opened mouth at the loss of friction and pressure; he whines anew when Finan gently turns his head the other way to kiss him in turn. “Gods, I can’t…”

“You must.” Finan’s stare scorches Sihtric, although he knows its full effect was for Uhtred to withstand, “I’ve done all the fucking work for you, _Lord_.”

Uhtred bristles like he always does when his proper title gets invoked in bed. For an agonizing moment, Sihtric is sure that Uhtred will simply roll around onto his side, his back to Sihtric, and fall asleep right there. There are many pleas on Sihtric’s tongue at the mere thought of that happening, English and Norse words mixing within his mind until he’s left with a jumbled mess of syllables that absolutely does _not_ resemble any form of coherent speech.

Thankfully, Uhtred takes pity on him. He’s slow in dispensing his blessed mercy, because he’s as exhausted as he was before but without the adrenaline from being so riled up thrumming within his veins; still, Uhtred perseveres. Sihtric sighs into his mouth when he finds himself being kissed again, Finan’s body irradiating a comforting warmth at his other side. It reminds Sihtric of the posture they were in while Uhtred had laid prone in between them, back when they’d first taken things to bed after bathing their Lord.

His thoughts dissolve when Uhtred wraps his hand around his cock, his grip tight yet loose enough that Sihtric can simply fuck into it. Finan chuckles, his voice still deep and slightly hoarse, biting the until now unmarked side of Sihtric’s neck. He has to brush aside some sweat-damp curls to get to the weakest spots. The scream Sihtric gives upon being kissed there is more than reward enough for his troubles.

Sihtric closes his eyes, lets his head roll to the left, towards Uhtred, just so Finan can have more room to move, more skin to kiss and bite into. His poor cock is so painfully hard that Sihtric isn’t even sure if he’s moaning or sobbing with every thrust and every lazy twist of Uhtred’s wrist. His grip doesn’t change too much, since he knows perfectly well how Sihtric loves it best. Uhtred murmurs and hums, too incoherent to form actual words, letting Sihtric chase his pleasure like he allowed Finan to do the same moments ago.

“… _ástin mínn_ …”

Sihtric’s orgasm hits him as suddenly and as hard as Finan’s Norse. He screams and thrashes about, dimply feeling Finan and Uhtred moving closer to bracket him in, to keep him safe and sane throughout it all. White-hot pleasure explodes behind his closed eyelids, lighting them up with a myriad of brilliant colours. His abdomen contracts until it _hurts_ , but the pain is welcomed, because it comes accompanied by Finan’s growls and Uhtred’s moans.

By the time Sihtric comes back to his own mind, he’s lying against Finan’s torso, his head pillowed on the Irishman’s shoulder. Uhtred has claimed the opposite side; he’s so close that Sihtric would barely have to lean forward to kiss him. Smiling and tired and satisfied, Sihtric whines to let them both know he’s back in _Miðgarðr_ with them.

“Hey, love…” Finan kisses the top of his head, almost at the shaved edges of his hair. Uhtred opens his eyes and smiles at Sihtric, encircling his waist with one arm, “How are you feeling?”

“You were gone for a while…” Uhtred mutters, rough with sleep and satisfaction. Sihtric hadn’t known he needed that simple explanation, but he’s glad he’s got it now.

“I love you both so much…”

The kisses he receives from Uhtred and Finan alike tell him they feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ergi is an insult. It means “unmanly” (also used as “coward”). In this case, it’s used to insult men who take on passive roles during sex. When a man was accused of being ergi, the expectation was that the accused one kills the accuser in cold blood as retaliation for such a deeply-cutting insult.
> 
> Mjöllnir is the name of Thor’s Hammer.
> 
> A stór means “darling” in (modern) Irish. The only Gaelic translator I could find was (modern) Scottish…
> 
> Meirr means “more” in Old Norse.
> 
> Ástin mínn means “my love” in Old Norse (and in modern Icelandic).
> 
> Ja means “yes” in Old Norse (and in a bunch of modern languages from the same language family).
> 
> Glaðliga means “gladly”, “heartily” in Old Norse.
> 
> Miðgarðr literally means “middle earth” in Old Norse. It’s one of the Nine Realms: the one where humans live.


End file.
